


Charlie's Transformative Work.

by dilangley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Gen, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6259045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilangley/pseuds/dilangley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Bradbury has created a Supernatural video game. When Sam and Dean stumble upon her creative endeavors, they are not entirely sure how to feel. Why is there a Flirty option between Dean and Castiel? What is an OC? [season 10 oneshot]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlie's Transformative Work.

Sam Winchester walked along, arms shuffling somewhat awkwardly back and forth. He stopped and pointed to a poker beside the room’s fireplace. Behind him, Dean came to a stop, bumping into his brother and then jerking backwards slightly to his own space. Sam’s mouth moved just out of sync with his speech, as he exclaimed, “I think this is made of iron!” 

His arms moved over the poker, back and forth, but he did not grab it. He backed up and tried again, and this time, the iron poker snapped up into his hands. He turned to face Dean.

“Let’s go gank that ghost!” Then his face glitched as the scene melted into darkness. 

Charlie Bradbury glared at her computer screen. Sam’s ability to pick up items was especially spotty in this hunt, a Scooby Doo style caper that involved the malevolent ghost of a business tycoon. Charlie dragged her fingers over the touchpad on the laptop and went back into the source code of her work to adjust the tracking from 0.5 to 0.25. The change might make characters put their hands through objects occasionally and damage the opacity of the environment, but that would be better than the glitchy pickup. 

She squinted at her computer screen, tilting her head sideways at the title page that glowed there. Slight melodrama aside, it had great flair, and she had picked the unofficial strains of Kansas as the background music. Her funny little idea, spawned at a comic convention in Topeka, had grown bigger than she had anticipated: _Supernatural: Case Files_ now had over 652 hits from its link embedded in the fan forums and logged players in 3 countries. Considering she was a homeless, ex-denizen of Oz who lived at the mercy of the Winchesters, it was probably bad form to create interactive content about them without their consent, but internet popularity was irresistable.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” she said to the empty bunker. As she stood up, the lights sprang from dim to bright, bathing the room in a scholarly glow. Her habit of waking up early had solidifed in her military days in Oz, and her mornings wiled away on her computer hours before anyone else in the bunker woke up. Dean occasionally stayed up until three or four in the morning, so sometimes they would cross paths as she woke up and he dragged towards bed. The Mark of Cain stood between them still, a terse reminder of a broken arm and wounded spirit from not long ago. Her face no longer bore bruises, but his words glowed in his eyes when he looked at her: “I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

Charlie closed her own eyes, remembering, and then reveled in a moment’s gratitude that they both had this place and the time to heal. She stretched her back, listening for a satisfying pop along her veterbrae, and then walked towards the kitchen. Her work on Case Files pleased her. She had certainly earned a cup of java. The kitchen clocks boasted global times from the wall, and she startled when she saw that it was nearly eight this morning. She had been working for over three hours – so much for just logging in and cleaning up a few bugs before her morning coffee.

She tilted the pot up, relieved that the timer had kept it brewing while she worked, and listened to the splash of the blessed liquid. By the time she stirred in cream and sugar, it was a pale, creamy blend, and she took a cautious sip. Thank Sam for having the good taste to buy quality joe.

“What the hell is this?” 

Charlie whirled in the direction of the foyer, mouth dropping open. “D’arvit,” she cursed. “Maybe he is talking to Sam.”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s voice was next.

“Dude, seriously, what the hell?” Dean repeated.

“I don’t know!” Sam reiterated.

“Or maybe he’s talking to Sam about my computer screen,” she muttered to the ceiling. Resigned, she tapped her toe on the tan tiles and waited for the inevitable bellow. Their impatience was practically legendary; just ask Castiel who was often on the receiving end of prayerful demands for his attention. She had tried praying a few times for him, just out of curiosity, but it had gotten her no response. Either she was not a good pray-er, he was not tuned into her, or he knew that she was really just trying to get his attention for kicks and giggles.

“Chaaaaarliiiie,” Dean dragged her name out to ten syllables, voice so gravelly it made her shudder appreciatively in spite of the fact that he was not her gender. She did have to love a good manly burr like that.

“Yes?” She called back, hoping she appeared meek as a lamb as she rounded the corner into the main foyer again. Both brothers stood in front of her computer, but Sam had the audacity to actually touch it, clicking. Their aghast faces contorted anew as they watched somethng on the screen. She heard the tinny, tinkling notes of “Carry On My Wayward Son” and feigned innocence.

“What the actual hell is this?” 

“Your vocabulary is awfully limited right now.” A grin escaped her lockdown and appeared on her lips. 

“Charlie,” Sam used his gentle voice, and that was enough to soften her, almost enough to make a little guilt spike up. Their lives really shouldn’t be fair game for public consumption. “What is this?”

“It’s, uh, it’s a... Well, it’s an online... tool of sorts,” she said, sliding into the chair to get between them and her laptop. She preferred to protect her technology from murderous rampages whenever possible.

“A tool?” Skeptical Sam frowned.

“Supernatural: Case Files is a tool?” Sarcastic Dean raised both eyebrows.

She huffed out an anxious breath. “Well, maybe not a tool so much as... aninteractivegame.”

Dean’s face twisted as he looked down at the floor and then up at the ceiling. Charlie could not help but think that he looked so done, to quote the meme-loving internet. She tried an endearing “Look how cute I am!” smile, but he did not smile back. He nurtured a particular dislike for people dabbling in the Winchesters’ lives. Unlike Sam who tended to a softer approach, Dean bordered on tactical. He saw all the possible risks of fans seeing into the world of hunting, fictionalized or otherwise.

“There’s an online Supernatural game. As if the books and conventions weren’t bad enough.” Sam seemed to be speaking to the cosmos, having his own _Are You There God? It’s me, Margaret_ moment. Charlie liked the fact that he used the word “there’s” though. He had not connected the dots to see that she was the creator of this particular corner of fandom.

“How does it work?” Dean said after a long wait, and she glowed up at him.

“You really want to know? You’re not going to Hulk out and smash the computer?”

“Since when,” he slid a chair over, “do I Hulk out and smash things?”

“Since having the Mark of Cain. Duh.” 

“Shut up.”

It was the closest the pair of them had gotten to witty banter in a few weeks, and it warmed the pit of her stomach. Sam also pulled over a chair. 

“Show us the game?” Ever the gentleman, Sam transformed a demand into a polite question.

She slid her finger along the trackpad and clicked on the New Game button. The screen popped up with four options. When she hovered the cursor over digital Dean, he floated up above the other characters and spun in a circle. “See, it starts off where you can pick a character. You can be Dean,” she said, pointing to the waving Dean. She moved over Sam who floated up and waved. “Or Sam. Or Castiel.” When she put the cursor over the trenchcoated angel, he floated up but neither smiled nor waved, maintaining a flat expression.

“I tried... I mean, the game tried to stay faithful to Book Castiel. Not a lot of expression with that one back then,” Charlie observed.

“How would the game know...” Dean started to ask, but Sam cut him off, distracted.

“What’s that option there?”

“That’s where you can make an Original Character to go hunting with the Winchesters,” she explained. She clicked on the generic person icon and a complex creator came up. 

“Why would anyone want to create an Original Character to go in a preexisting story?” Dean questioned. Charlie gave him an annoyed, pointed look.

“You really can’t think of any reasons? Because they have unique ideas worth expressing, because they feel close to the characters and want to fictionally interact with them, because they have dirty, hot, wet fantasies about Sam to live out... really, you can take your pick of the litter. There’s lots of reasons for OCs.”

“No one fantasizes about Dean?” Dean said, indignant.

“You know some people do,” she soothed, patting his hand. 

“Yeah, they do,” he said, shooting Sam an innuendo-laden look. Sam rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched at the corner. Charlie recognized the twitch as a precursor to a triumphant comeback.

“If you ask your fans, they’d say no one does more fantasizing about you than Cas,” Sam said archly.

“Just remember there’s no Sastiel, Sammy.” Dean’s reply should have been ridiculous, but it actually seemed to serve as a putdown. Charlie wondered if the comment had anything to do with their time immersed in the fanfiction world of “Supernatural: The Musical.”

“There’s Sabriel though. Weirdly enough,” Charlie murmured to no one in particular. Neither brother heard her as they had returned their attention to the laptop screen. The brothers exchanged looks, and she read there a mixing of their distress and their curiosity. On one hand, anything that might stoke the fire of the fandom was a potentially dangerous thing. On the other hand, they were a video game. Curiosity won out.

“Let me make one,” Dean demanded, sliding the laptop out of her hand. She acquiesced, and he started to work, tilting the laptop away from her so she couldn’t watch him. There was an awful lot of clicking and sliding, though. Sam leaned over, trying to work with him to no avail.

“Dude, stop. She doesn’t need a chest that big. Really. What are you doing? Those clothes won’t work for hunting,” Sam released a running editorial.

Finally, Dean cut him off. “Go get your laptop if you want to play.”

Charlie expected Sam to grumble and give up, but instead, he unfolded and went to his room to get his own laptop. When he got back into the foyer, he asked Charlie to set him up. Unlike his brother, he chose himself as a character and dove right into playing.

“What do I do here?” He asked on the next screen. 

“Hunts – they’re like missions, basically – are unlocked one or two at a time. You have to go through the tutorial hunt before you can make any choices though.”

Sam nodded and clicked the button. He started guiding his character through a basic ghost hunt, listening carefully to explanations of why salt and iron were vital consumables and how to pick them up in game. Charlie had designed a short introduction that quickly went over the basics, and before long, the narrator’s voice said, “I’m proud of you, son. Remember to be safe out there while you’re hunting things, saving people, the family business.”

Dean lifted his head from his own computer just as Sam looked at him. “Dad’s the narrator?”

“I mean, not really,” Charlie muttered to herself. “I mean, it’s probably just a recording by a middle-aged fan in Ohio.”

“Check this out,” Dean turned Charlie’s computer towards his brother. The image on the screen, which had undoubtedly gone through many levels of distorted and weird, was now an attractive brunette. The immature thirty-something was grinning for all the world like a twelve-year-old with a _Playboy_. “I’m a girl.”

“You’re insane,” Sam replied, barely looking up from his game where his character self was walking along the edge of the woods.

They both continued to play quietly, and Charlie had to admit she got a little tingle listening to the digital Winchesters controlled by the real ones. She had made this game herself, and they enjoyed it. To please them was a particular triumph considering their aversion to anything fandom-related. Maybe they were even going to forget to be mad. That cozy little thought made her feel like Willow Rosenberg, a computer nerd goddess, and she took a deep drink of her coffee. Its tepidity made it gulpable. Once she finished it, she walked into the kitchen and washed her mug. She dried it with a clean towel before walking back into the foyer.

“Charlie.” Dean said her name as if she had committed a mortal sin. Sam, however, was silent.

“Yes?” 

“Who made this game?” He pointed to his screen, but she could not see what he was pointing to specifically. She waffled.

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Charlie. I’m going to ask again. Who created this game?” Suddenly she realized Sam was not silent but laughing so hard it was soundless. He finally wheezed and then went back to laughing, folded in half and shaking. She had never seen him laugh so hard.

“... a really way smart hacker?” She smiled a smile that was more of a grimace.

“Try again.”

“Me?” She tried. 

“That’s what I thought. Why are these options here?” He turned the screen towards her, and she saw that it was frozen on a dialogue option. Dean could either click “We all make a great team” or “I am really glad you’re here” while talking to Castiel. She had privately called these the Friendly or Flirty options, and now she was so grateful she had not actually given them that label.

“Click --” Sam managed to control his laughter and reached over without permission, choosing the Flirty option. “That one.”

Digital Dean said his line and Castiel replied, “I fell from Heaven to be with you.”

“Holy shit.” Real Dean’s face went white. “Charlie, what is this crap?”

Sam guffawed again. “It’s Destiel, Dean. Didn’t you learn anything from ‘Supernatural: The Musical’?”

“You know, Dean, the books really have way more subtext to them than...” She began to explain, but he cut her off with wild gesticulation of his arms.

“Than my life?” He finished. “More subtext than my life. Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

“Shouldn’t you at least finish the game before you complain?” 

“You need to delete this.” Dean pushed the computer towards her, and she looked at him. He was her friend, one of the people she loved most in the world, and she would die for him. Well, she would die for him if she had the time to think about it and make the plan. In a split second decision, she had no way of knowing if she would explode into a flaming ball of cowardice instead. Yet this game was her baby, a work of creative genius, and it was not hurting him.

“No thanks. It’s not hurting anything.” If anyone besides her had said that to him, she suspected that person would wind up regretting it, but his eyes widened before settling back into their usual size. He must have known her answer before she ever said it.

“You’ve made me gay!”

She thought that one over, turning the idea 360 degrees in her mind before answering: “I have written two separate directions for your life based on reasonable extensions of canon.”

“Don’t try to ‘fan’ your way out of this, kiddo.”

“Hey, at least, you get paired with someone,” Sam chuckled. Charlie glanced over to see that the younger brother was now back in the game, sending his character down a dark corridor armed with only a wrench.

“Not helping, Sammy,” Dean groused.

Charlie pushed the laptop back towards him. “When I get an email alert that you have finished the game – the whole game – and given it a real chance, then we can talk about whether or not it is hurting anything. But you can’t gripe about something you haven’t played. That’s like crotchety members of the school board trying to get _The Laramie Project_ pulled without having ever read it. Besides, a little transformative fiction never hurt anyone.”

Dean’s mouth twitched before straightening out into an almost smile. Charlie knew she had him and leaned over his shoulders, squeezing him in a hug. He pulled the laptop back towards him and started to play. At first, he was silent, but within a few minutes, he was showing features to Sam – “Check this out, man,” as he took on a vampire. His phone rang loudly, and for a second, he looked startled. Charlie prided herself on the playability of the game, so she could not resist giving herself some silent kudos. 

Dean scooped the phone up and went through the usual hemming and hawing he did before driving to work a case. Lo and behold, when he hung up, he told Sam they had a lead on the Book. They were packed and out the door in less than thirty minutes, but she noticed they did not exit the game before putting Sam’s laptop in their bag.

“They’re totally playing _Case Files_ in their motel tonight,” Charlie said to the empty room as they closed the door at the top of the stairs. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her laptop back open. She needed to get into the source code and write out the kiss option in Hunt #8. Dean was not ready for that just yet.

“Maybe in a few years,” she said to herself as she typed away. “Maybe in a few years.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be writing my crossover, but this little idea would not stop nagging at me. Hope it made you giggle!


End file.
